


Ensnared

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Blow Jobs, Collars, Fauns & Satyrs, Fawnlock, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Hunter John, Injury, Injury Recovery, Johnlock Roulette, Leashes, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Blood, Muteness, Needles, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John isn't having a very successful day out hunting in the woods by his cabin, that is, until he stumbles across a trapped and injured <i>something</i>.  The doctor in John can't just leave it there to die, so what else is he to do except take it home and try his best to care for it?  He never could have predicted the kind of attachment that would grow out of such a strange encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies, but the explicit stuff doesn't happen until the next chapter.  
> This was inspired by [this thread from Bennyslegs and others.](http://bennyslegs.tumblr.com/post/90886254815/bennyslegs-john-hitting-fawnlock-with-a)  
> [And don't forget to follow me on Tumblr!](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)

John stalked closer toward the rustling sound he heard from the undergrowth, his rifle raised to his shoulder and his breathing even.  He put one foot in front of the other, slowly, carefully, following the narrow animal trail that wound through the woods.  He hadn’t managed to bag anything all day, not even a rabbit, and whatever this was, it sounded big, maybe even a deer.

He paused a moment to let the adrenaline coursing through his veins settle as he took a deep breath, his trigger finger resting safely to the side of the trigger guard but ready for action.  He rounded a corner and nearly fell flat on his arse as he stumbled backward at what he saw.  John breathed hard through his nose, trying to remain quiet as he stepped around the corner again to see if he had gone completely mad.

What was that thing?  John leveled his rifle at it and dared to walk a few steps closer.  The thing shifted and John felt his heart stop when a distinctly human face emerged from under that mass of curly black hair and those perfectly symmetrical four point antlers.  Oh god what was this thing and why was it lying face down in the middle of the trail?  John swallowed hard and stepped just a little closer, bringing in to view the lower legs and, and _hooves_ of this creature.  

“Oh no.” John whispered under his breath, flicking the safety and lowering his gun.  Whatever this thing was, he could see now why it was lying nearly motionless on the forest floor; one of its legs was caught in a snare.  The wire had cut harshly into the creature’s fur and flesh and the wound was bloody and filthy, likely infected.  John’s doctorly instincts took over and he approached the thing cautiously, keeping a close eye on it for any signs of movement other than the shallow, rapid, rise and fall of its chest.  

John tsked at what he saw, it looked like this thing had been trapped for at least a few days and had likely only survived this long by sheer dumb luck.  He looked closer, trying to figure out what the heck this thing even was, other than completely dirty, on the edge of death, and unlike anything John had ever seen before in his life.  Wait, that wasn’t quite true.  What were they called?  Those things with the goat legs from his classics courses? Fauns! That’s what this creature reminded him of.  

Instead of a goat though this thing had the bottom half of a deer complete with a large tail which was probably a bright white when it was clean.  John was utterly fascinated and felt so sorry for this poor trapped thing.  He sighed deeply, not sure what exactly he should do.  John doubted the thing could walk on that leg, and even if it could manage to hobble to safety, if the wound was as infected as John suspected, that alone would kill it.  

John was startled and fell back against a tree when the creature suddenly moved, its eyes snapping open as it scrambled onto its back, its leg tugging violently at the snare, making the creature howl out in pain before it collapsed again, unconscious.  Its eyes! Oh its eyes had been incredible; all shifting blue and green and _intelligent_.  John steeled himself and went up to the creature again, able to see more of the thing now that it was on its back.

The thick fur of its haunches stopped just above its hipbones, which were sharp and jutting out sharply.  This thing was so skinny that John could count its ribs too.  Not it, John blushed slightly, clearly a him judging by the soft cock that was nestled in the thick, dark fur of its pubic region.  His chest hair was dark and thick too,but other than that, the antlers, and a large pair of fuzzy ears, the upper half of him looked basically human, except for some dark markings on his face and shoulders.  Actually he looked rather appealing with long eyelashes and high cheekbones and his lips, although cracked and dry at the moment, would probably be so plush and pink when he was healthy.

“Right, then.” John said quietly, setting his rifle down against a tree and fishing his swiss army knife out of his pocket and setting to work on the snare with it.  No wonder this creature couldn’t get itself free, John thought, the snare was a complicated one and he never would have been able to get it off with just his bare hands to work with, even with opposable thumbs.  Finally John managed to get it undone and pulled the wire gingerly out of the creature’s flesh.  The thing was out cold now, and John doubted he would wake up anytime soon given how much pain he must be in and how dehydrated.      

John bent and hauled the dead weight of the creature up and over his shoulder, picking up his rifle with his other hand and heading toward his small cabin just outside the woods.  The thing was heavy, but John was fit, and knew that if he didn’t help, this creature was going to die, and probably soon.  

When John staggered into his yard, panting and sweating, he was struck with the sudden realization that he had no idea where to put the creature.  He couldn’t very well take it inside his house, the thing was filthy and John wasn’t sure exactly what kind of mood it would in when it woke up.  He stood by his gate for a moment before an idea struck -- the old shed!  It wasn’t much, but it had a roof and high, small windows and John could lock it from the outside.  

John managed to get the shed door open one-handed and gently laid the thing down on the packed dirt floor.  First he removed all the odds and ends from the shed, which wasn’t much, a few garden tools and some old paint, before heading into this cabin.  Inside John found a padlock that would fit on the shed doors and gathered up his large first aid kit, some hot water and towels.

The creature was still unconscious when John returned to the shed, and in the fading daylight John tended to his wounds, finally wrapping the leg up in some clean gauze.  John set out a large bowl of water and some odds and ends of food he had in the cabin, having no idea what this creature ate, but knowing full well that he would need nourishment when he woke up.  John closed and locked the shed doors behind him and went inside to have a long, hot shower.

John let the water wash over him, easing his aching back and shoulder.  It hadn’t exactly been a short walk home with that thing slung over his shoulder, but John really hoped he would be able to nurse him through this.  John wanted to know what the creature was like awake and well, and whether or not the flash of intelligence John saw in his eyes was actually there.  John had so many questions, but doubted that he would get answers even if he got the thing healthy again.  John sighed and turned off the taps, stepping out of the shower and drying himself off before he padded on bare feet back to his room.

John pulled on some warm clothes and went to the linen cupboard to grab a few old quilts and his sleeping bag before he went back outside with a thermos of tea.  He unlocked the padlock on the shed as quietly as he could and slipped into the semi darkness, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the moonlight that filtered through the windows.  The creature was still lying where John had left him, but his chest was rising and falling at a much slower rate than when John had found him in the woods.  John laid the warmest quilt over the thing and left another next to it before John got into his sleeping bag and made himself as comfortable as he could in a corner of the shed.  

John didn’t want the creature to wake up alone, and was worried that he would take a sudden turn for the worse during the night, so he sat and he watched and listened to the small huffs of breath the creature gave as it slept.  Watching the thing sleep wasn’t really helping John’s sudden attachment, and inexplicable attraction to it.  He was even more beautiful with the moonlight reflecting off his sharp features.  His antlers looked bone white and his skin practically glowed.  John could hardly believe that _this_ was what this creature looked like when it was injured and ill -- he didn’t think he wanted to know what his reaction would be when the thing was healthy.

John shivered a little and pulled his sleeping bag closer around his shoulders.  He envied the thick fur on the creature’s haunches, it probably kept him reasonably warm on chill nights like this one.  John yawned wide and let his head fall back against the wall of the shed; it would be fine if he dozed off for just a few minutes.  Just a few.

 

* * *

 

 John woke with a start to the morning sun blazing through the windows of the shed.  He was confused and disoriented for a moment, forgetting where he was and why he was there in the first hazy seconds of wakefulness.  It only took one glance around the shed to bring him back to reality though, or whatever this was now, because it felt far from realistic.

The creature was awake and upright,  his legs splayed out on the dirt floor as he greedily drank from the bowl of water that John had left out.  John licked his lips as he watched the thing drink, watched that long throat work as he swallowed and the rivulets of water that ran off his face to drip off his jaw.  The droplets glinted in the sun before they splashed soundlessly to the ground.

John shifted, his body aching and his shoulder twinging with pain, all of his muscles were protesting not only the work of having carried the creature all the way home, but a night spent sleeping upright on the hard, cold, floor of the shed.  The thing finally noticed him, narrowing its gaze directly at John and dropping the now empty bowl.  John’s heart practically stopped as those eyes seemed to look right through him in an absolutely withering stare.  

John swallowed hard and shucked off the sleeping bag, moving to stand.  He kept his hands up and his head low and tried his best to look non-threatening.  “It’s okay, it’s alright, I’m just trying to help.” John said, keeping his voice low.  The creature’s ears perked up and turned to the sound of John’s voice and the thing sniffed at the air, keeping his eyes fixed on John as he did.  John kept talking, making soothing statements as he tried to step a little closer.  

The creature bared its teeth at John and made a move to stand, leveling its antlers at him. “No, no, no, no!” John warned, thoughtlessly stepping even closer to the thing, only serving to make him try to stand up faster.  As soon as any weight was on its injured leg though, its face contorted in pain and any thought of attacking John vanished as it crumpled back down to the floor with a pained whine.  “Just, just stay down.” John said, getting down on his knees and starting to reach for the creature’s leg.  The thing kicked out at John with a growl and only John’s quick reflexes kept him from catching it right in the chest.  The activity had clearly opened the wound back up, John could see blood starting to seep through the bandages around its leg.  The creature whimpered and dragged itself into a corner of the shed, pulling its legs in close and eyeing John warily.  

John sighed heavily.  This was going to be more complicated that he had thought.  He gathered the few things he had brought into the shed with him, leaving the untouched food and the quilts and locking the door behind him.  He would need to go into town for supplies because clearly this creature would never let him get close enough to keep that wound clean on its own.  He had a quick shower and put on some clean clothes before he grabbed a jug of water and went out to leave it in the shed.  The creature hadn’t moved but there was a sheen of sweat on his brow and he was making small, pained noises with each breath.  John left the open jug of water as close as he dared to get and left.

One of the good things about being a doctor, even one who was taking a bit of time off, is the ability to get drugs almost without question.  John got some antibiotics and a tranquilizer along with the syringes he would need to inject them with.  With all that tucked away in his car it was off to the pet store where John wandered the few small aisles looking for what he needed.  “Can I help you find anything?” chirped a clerk who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Oh, I umm … yes, thank you.”  John stammered.  “I need, umm, a, uhh, a collar.  A strong one.”

“Oh of course, right over here.  We have lots of options.  Got a new dog, then?”  The clerk said leading John over to a wall of collars, some simple, some covered in sequins or other sparkly junk.  

“Umm, yeah.”  John lied.

“What kind it is it? I’ve got a yorkie myself.  Great dog.  Always follows me around the house, getting underfoot and all that.”  The clerk went on, giggling as John nodded, only half listening to the rambling girl.  “So what’s yours?”

“I uhh, I don’t really know.  I just sort of found him hurt in the woods.  He’s big and kind of aggressive so I need to be able to chain him up so I can treat his wounds.”

“Oh, oh my.” The clerk blanched a little bit at that before perking back up again. “Well in that case, a chain collar is probably good for you! Cheap and strong and the dog won’t be able to bite through it.  We’ve got ground spikes and chain leashes too if you’ll be needing those.”

“Umm, yes, yes thank you.  I think I’ll need all of that.”

“Great! I’ll ring you up at the till!” the clerk said and lead the way up to the front of the store.

One more stop for a few groceries and John was on his way back home where he stashed the groceries and prepared a syringe of sedative.  He decided that given its size, he would  give the thing a regular human dosage even though it was a bit of a risk.  Now the problem would be getting close enough to actually get the sedative into the thing.  

John opened the shed door slowly, slipping into the dim room which now smelled very strongly of the creature, which wasn’t exactly pleasant given its state.  John noticed that the water was gone and a few pieces of fruit had been nibbled, but other than that everything was exactly as he had left it, including the creature huddled in the corner.

John approached slowly, his thumb ready on the depressor of the syringe, but keeping it hidden behind his leg.  John kept his head low and crept forward as he kept an eye on the creature, watching for any sign that he was going to lash out again.  John hoped that the pain in its leg would maybe keep it a bit more still this time, but he didn’t hold out much hope for that.  John took what was apparently one step too far and the creature launched itself at John with a snarl.  John let himself be tackled to the ground, being sure to keep his hand holding the syringe free and using the brief confusion of their fall as an opportunity to jab the syringe into the creature’s thigh and fill its bloodstream with the strong, quick acting sedative.

John breathed hard as the thing clutched onto his shirt and sat heavily on his stomach, growling low in its throat at him.  John watched as a look of confusion passed over his features and he blinked at John, sniffing the air and finally looking back at the syringe still stuck in his thigh.  He huffed and gave John a furious stare before the drug finally took hold and he swooned before dropping off, falling on top of John, one of his long ears brushing against John’s cheek.  John let out a lungful of air.  Thank god that had worked.  

John took a moment to appreciate the weight of the creature on top of him before he gingerly rolled the thing off himself, he was well and truly passed out, but John had a lot of work to do and he couldn’t be sure just how long the sedation would last.  He took one more look at the thing, now drooling a little onto the dirt floor of the shed, and got down to work.  

A short twenty minutes later and John sat finishing wrapping up the creatures leg in clean gauze.  He had cleaned the wound again, given the thing an antibiotic injection,  gotten a stake secured in the ground of the shed and locked a collar onto the creature, securing it with a length of chain to the stake.  He wished he could have given the thing a bath, but just couldn’t risk it without knowing exactly how the sedative would take.

John slowly backed away as he noticed the creature start to wake up, blinking its eyes blearily and starting to move.  This wasn’t going to do much to build trust, but John needed the thing to keep off its leg if it was ever going to heal.  The creature rolled over sluggishly with a small groan and the chain clanked.  John watched as the thing moved its hands up to its neck, touching the new addition, exploring it with its fingertips and running the cool links of metal between them.  He tugged on the small padlock that would stop him from unhooking the collar and felt the length of chain that attached to the stake.  

He sat up carefully, still blinking, obviously feeling the drowsy after-effects of the sedative and John just watched.  The creature locked eyes with John, leveling him with an accusatory stare and gave one sharp tug on the chain, making it rattle against the solidly driven stake in the ground.  “It’s for your own good.” John said calmly, “You have to keep off that leg, and I didn’t know any other way to make you.”  The creature squinted briefly at John, then huffed and turned his back to John, curling up on the ground and pulling a nearby quilt over himself.

John smiled.  This thing was acting like a child, having a little strop because he didn’t get his way -- it was actually kind of endearing.  John also thought that it was a good sign that rage hadn’t been the creature’s first reaction, although maybe the sedation had a little to do with that.  Either way John’s work was done for the moment and he decided that leaving the thing alone for a while was probably a good idea.

 

* * *

  

A few stressful days passed with John having to sedate the creature once a day to change its bandages and give it an antibiotic shot to fight off the infection.  He reduced the dosage as much as he felt he could, but even with it chained up, he didn’t exactly feel safe taking its leg into his lap to tend to the wound with the thing conscious.  

The wound was starting to heal better with the care that John was taking of it and the fact that the creature was properly hydrated, although John still didn’t think he was eating enough.  Each day only a few pieces of fruit would be nibbled on and John had yet to actually see the thing eat.  Every time John brought something new for him to try, he just wrinkled his nose at it and huffed, curling back up into himself and giving John a look that was definitely an insult.

John thought maybe if he started eating around the creature it would help, maybe get him to realise that John wasn’t actually trying to harm him.  So he starting bringing his meals out to the shed to eat.  He had managed to pry open the small windows and with the thing chained up, he could leave the door open too, giving them both a bit of fresh air.  The creature didn’t take any interest in John’s meals until one morning he came in with a plate of toast and homemade strawberry jam that a neighbour had given him.  That was one good thing about living out in the country, he was never short on preserves.

John sat down cross legged on the ground and started to munch on his toast.  The creature sniffed the air and John watched cautiously as he turned to face him, a quizzical look on his face.  He crawled over to John on his hands and knees to the very end of his tether, the chain starting dig into his neck.  The thing reached out and snatched the piece of toast out of John’s hand and quickly scrambled back to where he had been sitting before.  John stared in amazement as the creature held the toast up and sniffed at it again, sticking out his delicate pink tongue and tasting the jam.  His eyes lit up and he shoved the entire piece into his mouth in one go.

John burst out laughing, a deep and hearty chuckle that he couldn’t stop until there were tears in his eyes and his cheeks ached from the grin on his face.  The creature looked ridiculous, his cheeks puffed out and jam and toast crumbs all over his face.  The death glare he was giving John only made everything sillier.  John held out his plate with the other piece of toast on it.  “Here, here.”  He laughed, wiping the tears out of his eyes. “Take it, I’ll get some more.”  The creature slunk over and grabbed the other slice, eyeing John up and down as he did.  

John walked back to his cabin with the empty plate.  So that was the trick then, the thing liked sweet stuff.  John chuckled to himself as he made another plate of toast and jam up with two pieces for him and another two for the creature.  He was really going to need to find a name for that thing, wasn’t he?  That classics prof, what had his name been?  He was kind of a sharp and strange man like the creature was, although John was pretty sure that he had been entirely human, which wasn’t something he could say about the thing he currently kept chained up in his garden shed.  Sher-something, wasn’t it?  Something odd.  John thought hard, remembering names wasn’t exactly his strong suit and that class had been a rather long time ago.  Ah! Professor Sherlock that was it.  Hmm … Sherlock.  John thought about the creature with his high cheekbones, his mess of hair, and those strange lucid eyes.  It fit.

John walked back to the shed to find the creature, to find Sherlock, licking and sucking on his sticky fingers.  John tried very hard not to stare, not feel the blood rush up into his cheeks at the sight -- god those lips.  He cleared his throat and stepped forward, offering another piece of sweet jam covered toast that Sherlock took eagerly and ate quickly, making pleased little noises as he did.  John tried desperately to ignore those too as he ate his own toast, daring to sit a little closer to Sherlock than he had before.  He felt a little more confident finally knowing something that could placate and please the sullen creature.  

“I’m going to call you Sherlock.”  John remarked as he handed another piece of toast over.  “I hope that’s okay.  I’m John.  I don’t know if I ever told you that.  I’m not … I’m actually not sure why I’m telling you anything.”  John babbled a little and Sherlock’s ears turned toward the sound, showing that he was listening even though he was turned slightly away from John, stuffing the last crust of toast into his mouth.  “I mean, I just want you to understand that I’m only trying to help you.  I know it will be hard for a while.”  John paused and sighed deeply, “I know how hard it can be feeling trapped and useless, but we’ll get you back on your feet, alright?” John looked up to find Sherlock looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face.  John took a deep breath and got up to take the again empty plate inside, muttering to himself as he did.  “I don’t know why I’m talking to you at all.”

The next day John tried something new.  He set out a plate of fruit sprinkled with a generous dose of sugar for Sherlock and inched closer as he ate.  Sherlock made no move to get away from John, or to lash out at him, so John got a little braver and reached out to lay a hand just on the very edge of the bandage on Sherlock’s leg.  Sherlock looked back at John’s hand resting on his leg, then up at John, then resumed munching happily on the fruit.  “That’s it, Sherlock, nothing to worry about,” John murmured as he unwrapped the bandage as delicately as he could, knowing that although it was healing well, the wound was still likely very tender.  He cleaned the cut and dabbed ointment on it before wrapping it back up again, all with Sherlock glancing at his work every so often, but making no complaint.

When Sherlock’s leg was tended to again John finally let out the breath he had been holding.  That had gone much better than he had hoped.  John let his hand linger on Sherlock’s warm leg, feeling the smooth fur of it and how oddly bony it was.  It felt fragile, but John knew that wasn’t the case, knew that it couldn’t be given how tall Sherlock must be when he could actually stand.  John would bet that he was quick too, and deviously clever.  It was such a shame that another hunter’s carelessness had nearly brought him so low.  John realised quite suddenly that Sherlock was staring at him, that he had probably left his hand on his leg, gently petting his fur, for much too long.  John blushed and pulled his hand back quickly, grabbing the empty plate and beating a hasty retreat from the shed.  

John sighed as he washed the meager sink full of dishes -- he seemed to be doing that a lot lately, the sighing, and he also seemed to be thinking a lot about Sherlock.  What was he going to do once his leg was better?  John realised that he would have to let him go, but he desperately didn’t want to think about that day, it made his chest ache.  It had been such a short time, but the creature had given John a purpose, and a strange sort of companionship, and finally, although John had a bit of hard time admitting this final point to himself, John was incredibly attracted to the creature.  Attracted to him in such a way and with such intensity that John couldn’t remember ever having felt that way before.  Although, he had never met anything like Sherlock before either.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come on now, that’s it.” John coaxed, holding one end of the chain that clinked lightly against Sherlock’s collar.  He limped along following John outside of the shed into the sunny yard of John’s cabin.  John walked backward in front of him, arms out ready to catch him should he stumble.  It was clear that his leg hurt with each step he took, but also that it wasn’t unbearable.  A few more steps and they reached the large galvanized tub that John had filled with hot water -- a scrub brush, soap, washcloths, and towels stood ready as well.

Sherlock eyed the tub suspiciously.  “This is happening whether you want it or not, Sherlock.”  John said sternly.  “You reek.  Now get in the tub.”  Sherlock crossed his arms and tossed his head, giving a petulant sniff.  “Sherlock.  Bath.  Now.”  John tried again.  He had figured out that although he couldn’t talk, Sherlock seemed to have a basic understanding of the English language, or at least was able to read John’s expressions well enough to understand his meaning.

John reached into his pocket, pulling out a capped syringe and making sure that Sherlock saw it.  “We can do this the hard way, if you want.”  John threatened and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the syringe that John hadn’t had to use to treat his leg in over a week.  They had built a tenuous sort of trust based on John’s provision of sweet things to eat, and the obvious fact that his leg was healing better with John’s help.  John pointed and gave the small of Sherlock’s back a small shove.  “In there, now.  You’re getting clean today one way or another.” John said, clear that this was a final warning.  

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically and dipped a hoof into the water.  John raised an eyebrow at him and waited.  Sherlock huffed a little, but slowly climbed into the tub, sloshing water onto the lawn as he did.  John smiled put the syringe down, attached the metal leash to a newly installed stake, and reached into the small paper bag that he had next to all the bath supplies to offer Sherlock a toffee.  “See how well things go when you do what I ask?”  John grinned and Sherlock just snatched the toffee from his open palm, chewing on it happily as John started to get down to work.

He poured water over Sherlock’s tangled hair, making him grumble, but he sat still, and that’s all John really wanted.  John filled his palm with the baby shampoo he had picked up so that if any got in Sherlock’s eyes, it wouldn’t be a completely traumatic experience for them both.  John hadn’t ever washed anyone elses hair before, and between the sheer amount that Sherlock had, and having to work around his antlers, it took a few minutes before John really figured out what he was doing.  He massaged the shampoo into Sherlock’s scalp, carefully picking apart the tangles in his hair and working it into a sweet smelling lather.  It smelled like honey and talcum powder and that, combined with an increasingly pliant Sherlock under his hands, was a bit headier a mix than John had anticipated.

John swallowed and tried to focus on the task, running his fingers through Sherlock’s soapy hair.  He accidentally caught a tangle, pulling harder than he meant to, and Sherlock growled low in his throat.  “Sorry, sorry.” John mumbled, rubbing one of Sherlock’s ears apologetically.  John kept working through his hair, his short nails scratching lightly against Sherlock’s scalp and his knuckles bumping up against his antlers every few passes.  Sherlock had relaxed visibly, his eyes looking heavy and giving contented little noises when John’s fingers brushed his long ears or down onto his neck.  John chewed on his lower lip and moved to get the container he had grabbed for rinsing.  He could have happily spent all afternoon running his hands through Sherlock’s hair, but there was a lot more of him to clean, and even in the full afternoon sun, a cold bath was never quite as nice as a warm one.  

John rinsed Sherlock’s hair with a few dips of the container into the bathwater, the sweet smelling suds slipping easily out of his now clean and tangle-free hair.  Sherlock blinked, some of the water had splashed onto his face, making his long eyelashes clump together.  John looked down at him and smiled a little shyly now, “Isn’t that better already?” he asked and Sherlock snorted in response, but there was no actual displeasure in it.  John lathered up the scrub brush next.  He had picked it out at the pet store and it was technically for short haired dogs, but John thought that the stiff bristles were soft enough for Sherlock’s skin, but would also be effective on his, uh, furrier regions.  It had a strap across the back so it fit well in John’s hand too, gave him lots of control.  

John moved around to the side of the tub, reached into the water and pulled out Sherlock’s arm that was closest to him.  He moved the soapy brush in steady circles up and down Sherlock’s arm, slowly sloughing off the layer of grime that he had been covered in since John found him on the forest floor.  Sherlock’s skin was pale underneath it all, except the dark brown markings that trailed off his shoulders and spotted his face.  Sherlock just watched him calmly, almost dispassionately, clearly not enjoying this part of the process as much as he had enjoyed having his scalp massaged.  

John worked quickly but thoroughly, giving Sherlock a toffee every once and a while in return for his continued tolerance of the bath, and soon Sherlock’s upper half and his lower legs and hooves were clean.  John had been right about the brush; it did the trick on both fur and skin and the bathwater was getting decidedly murky.  John rubbed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist as his tshirt clung wetly to him.  He was the one who would need a bath after this.  “Alright Sherlock, I need you up on your knees, we’re almost done.”  John urged, his hand between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, directing him upward.    

John tried hard not to stare, really, he did.  But, as Sherlock got up and the water sloshed around his thighs in the tub, John couldn’t help himself.  The thick fur around Sherlock’s groin only served to frame his cock.  John wondered what it would look like hard and leaking and whether or not Sherlock ever touched himself with those long fingers.  “Ah!” John blinked, startled out of his thoughts with a splash of water to the face.  Sherlock’s tail flicked impatiently, and wetly, as he looked at John, who in turn was starting to blush deeply.  “Umm, turn please.” John motioned with a twist of his finger, and Sherlock rolled his eyes but did as John requested and turned his back to him.  

John busied himself soaping up the brush again, wishing desperately that his face and ears weren’t as red as they felt, and that maybe if he couldn’t see Sherlock’s cock, it wouldn’t be such a distraction.  John ran the brush over Sherlock’s furry thighs, judiciously avoiding any more intimate areas, at least, at first he did.  There were two problems with John’s strategy: the first was that obviously all of Sherlock was dirty, and John wasn’t one to leave a job half finished, and secondly Sherlock had started moving with John’s motions, rubbing himself against the brush and John’s arm.  John felt his heart lurch as his pulse skyrocketed and his jeans started to feel far too tight.  

John swallowed hard as he ran the brush up the back of Sherlock’s thigh and over his furry bottom.  John watched a shiver run up Sherlock’s spine as he bent forward, gripping the side of the tub.  Oh god, John was absolutely done in.  He rubbed the brush over Sherlock’s white fur that made the round curves of his arse stand out in contrast.  He worked up to Sherlock’s tail, which had gone completely still in the last few moments, standing up against the arch of his back.  John brushed up it, and then, unsatisfied, wrapped his hand around it and pulled lightly, drawing a low, shivery moan from Sherlock.  John was completely mesmerized by the sound.  Sherlock made so few sounds, most of them huffs of annoyance, so this new noise was something John definitely wanted to hear more of.

He rinsed the soap from Sherlock’s fur quickly before wrapping his hand back around his dripping tail.  He pulled a little harder this time, his fingers wrapped tightly around the base of it and John heard Sherlock’s breathing hitch, then a rolling purr of a moan.  John almost groaned in return, but bit his lip hard to choke the sound off before he made it.  Oh this was bad, John thought, so very bad, but he couldn’t help himself.  John kept stroking Sherlock’s tail, pulling at the root while he stared, open mouthed and breathing hard.

Sherlock had his head dropped low, his hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly, his back curved to push his arse out like an invitation.  He was so gorgeous with the sun glinting off his wet skin and his fur finally clean under John’s hands.  John grabbed his arse with both hands, filling his palms with wet fur and firm, yet giving flesh and swallowed dryly at the sight of Sherlock’s perfect, pink arsehole.  He wanted to bury his tongue in it, make Sherlock squirm and whine as he pressed his mouth against it.  John imagined the feeling of Sherlock’s soft fur against his cheeks and nose as he did.  

John slowly became aware of the fact that Sherlock was looking back over his shoulder at him, his tail twitching again. “Oh, oh god Sherlock, I’m sorry.” John said, removing his hands and holding them up in a gesture of surrender.  Sherlock glared icily at him, turning his upper body slowly, making the links of the chain still attached to his collar clank against the metal tub.  John braced himself for an attack, obviously he had crossed a line, but Sherlock just grabbed his wrist and put his hand back on his tail.  So that’s how it was, John let out a breath, relieved, as he resumed stroking Sherlock’s tail, watching Sherlock settle back down with a pleased little noise.   

John shifted a little on his knees as he massaged the base of Sherlock’s tail, his thumb rubbing the underside of it, straying down briefly to the space between between his tail and arsehole.  Sherlock was making needy sounding moans again, rocking back into John’s hand.  Oh those noises -- they were driving John half mad with want and his jeans were nearing painful levels of tightness.  John moved his free hand up to grip Sherlock’s hip, digging his fingers into the thick fur there, feeling the rounded edge of his hipbone.  He was still so skinny, but at least he didn’t look sickly anymore.  Far from it, in fact.  Clean and in the sunlight he was so indescribably gorgeous, practically ethereal, but it was clear from the heat coming off of him, the wet fur and solidness underneath John’s hands that he was far from unearthly.

John pulled Sherlock’s tail in one firm motion, harder than he had before and Sherlock growled, shuddered, his hips involuntarily pushing forward.  This was a new growl, not low and dangerous like when Sherlock was trying to threaten, but rolling and, well, John thought, aroused.  John let out a shuddering breath as he felt his cock throb in response.  He wondered if Sherlock was hard too and dared to slide his hand forward, off Sherlock’s hip and through the thick tangle of fur at his groin.  John managed to keep his other hand moving, tugging and rubbing Sherlock’s tail as his other hand met something hard, hot, and undeniably male.

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John whispered as he wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s stiff cock.  It was long and thin like the rest of him and wet with what John could feel wasn’t just the bath water.  Part of John was telling him that this was all kinds of wrong, every bit of it.  The fact he was touching Sherlock sexually -- wrong.  The fact that John was so so turned on by it -- incredibly wrong.  Sherlock wasn’t human.  Well he was partly human, perhaps even a majority human, so John though he could maybe justify that part.  But Sherlock, up until this point, had essentially been his injured pet; a patient that John was meant to be caring for, and that likely didn’t include jerking him off in his yard after inadvertently arousing him.

John was brought quickly and deftly out of his own head as Sherlock drew his hips back and snapped them forward again, pulling himself through the ring of John’s hand.  John couldn’t hold back the groan that heaved its way seemingly from the depths of his gut judging by how deep it came out.  All of the reasons for not doing this suddenly evaporated into a pleasantly empty space in John’s mind that was now rapidly filling with the feeling of Sherlock in his hand and the delicious noises he was making as John finally moved that hand over his length.  

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John and John licked his lips reflexively.  There was a high flush on Sherlock’s cheekbones, his eyes were dark and his mouth was open, panting when his lips weren’t curling around a wordless whine or a growled out sort of moan.  He was breathtakingly gorgeous.  John locked eyes with him and simultaneously pulled hard on his tail and gave a firm stroke to his leaking cock.  Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and a shiver ran down his spine as he let out a rumbling groan.

John pressed himself against the warm metal of the tub; anything to relieve a bit of the tension on his trapped cock.  He slid his one hand, smoothly, firmly, over Sherlock’s hard cock as he gave intermittent tugs on his tail.  Sherlock moved his hips against John’s hold on him and whined, clearly wanting John to move faster, harder, give him more.  Sherlock dropped his head again as John gave him all of that, sliding his fist quickly, Sherlock’s precome making everything slick.  It didn’t take much until Sherlock gasped and came in John’s hand, letting out a long, low moan as he did.  

John swallowed hard and tried to remember how to breathe, tried to remember exactly what he was meant to be doing while sweat-soaked and hard in his trousers out in his yard.  Sherlock shifted and John quickly removed his hands from him, giving them a cursory rinse in the dingy bathwater.  He rinsed Sherlock’s lower half with a few dips of water, desperately not making eye contact and trying to will the flush from his cheeks.  He gave a small cough as he stood up, grabbing a large towel he had brought out and unclasping the leash from the stake next to the tub.  “Alright, you’re done.”

He helped Sherlock stand and climb out of the tub, then wrapped him in the towel, giving him a bit of a rub-down with it, but feeling less and less comfortable with the physical contact.  Sherlock didn’t seem to be having any problems though as he pressed close to John, nuzzling his face into John’s neck and snuffling at him there.  “O-okay Sherlock,” John stammered, flustered, “let’s get you back inside, yeah?”  Sherlock didn’t seem interested in what John was saying though, as he licked a stripe up John’s neck to his ear.  A small humm slipped past John’s lips as he felt his knees go weak. He needed to get away, needed space to think, needed to ignore how good that tongue felt on his skin.

John pushed Sherlock away from him gently, stepping behind him and putting a hand between his shoulder blades to lead him back into the shed.  Sherlock limped along in front of him, and when they were back in the shed John laid out a clean quilt for Sherlock to sit down on.  John clipped the leash back onto the stake only to have Sherlock cling onto his leg, rubbing his face against John’s thigh.  “Sherlock, I … I have to go.” John said, prying Sherlock’s hands off him, walking as fast as he could out of Sherlock’s reach and not looking back until he had shut the door behind him.

John rested his forehead against the rough, weathered wood of the shed door for a moment and let out a shuddering breath.  What in the hell had just happened?  John turned and adjusted himself in his trousers, god, he was still so hard.  He gathered up the bath things and tipped the tub of murky water out onto the lawn before heading inside.  He needed a shower.  Fuck it, he needed a wank.

Stripped of his filthy clothes and letting the hot water wash the sweat and dirt off him, John was struck by a sudden odd odour.  He sniffed at himself and soon realized it was coming from his hand.  It was the distinctly animal, musky smell of Sherlock and it was stuck all over John’s hand like Sherlock had been clinging to his leg only a few minutes ago.  John’s cock throbbed and he groaned at his body’s response to not only the earthy smell of Sherlock, but all of the images and sounds it brought flooding through his mind.  

Why did Sherlock have to be so gorgeous?  So completely, utterly attractive and apparently shameless as well?  John pressed his forehead to the cool tile of the shower wall next to his hand, the one that smelled so strongly of Sherlock.  He, for one, felt ashamed of himself.  Ashamed of how achingly hard he was, ashamed of the way he was thinking about Sherlock’s plush lips wrapped around his cock and how he could dig his fingers into all that hair and wrap them around his antlers to guide him, and he was definitely ashamed of the way he was still obsessing over Sherlock’s tight little arsehole.

“Jesus,”  John groaned out, his fist sliding quickly over his stiff cock, breathing deep through his nose, filling himself with Sherlock’s scent.  This was not going to take long.  In fact, John moaned as he felt heat and urgency build up low in his stomach, it was going to take an embarrassingly short amount of time.  John bit his lip, tightening his grip on himself for a few brief strokes before he was coming against the shower wall, the thought of pulling Sherlock’s tail while he fucked him driving him over the edge.             

“Oh fuck,” John breathed, pulling himself away from the wall and back under the steady stream of hot water, giving himself a moment to get his breath back before actually starting on the perfunctory acts of bathing.  He couldn’t get Sherlock out of his head though and he was starting to wonder how he was supposed to deal with this new development.  

One shower and two cups of tea later and John had decided that the best course of action was to pretend that nothing had happened.  He wasn’t sure that he was actually capable of looking at Sherlock and not immediately re-living every filthy moment of that afternoon, but he was going to try.  And he was going to have to test himself soon because it was just about dinner time.  

John took a deep, steadying breath before opening the shed door.  He could do this, he  could completely ignore the fact that anything had happened that afternoon.  He could … oh.  John sucked in a breath, nearly dropping the food he had brought with him.  Oh god he couldn’t do this.  Sherlock was fast asleep on the quilt, a sunray making the chains that kept him tied up glint and sparkle.  He was curled up on his side, another blanket hugged to his chest and his hips twisted in such a way that John got just the perfect view of his round, furry arse.

Sherlock’s tail and ears twitched in his sleep and John sighed as he sat down a small distance away from him.  John put Sherlock’s plate down and tucked into his own dinner, eating slowly and quietly as he watched Sherlock sleep peacefully.  He felt a little voyeuristic doing it, but it wasn’t like John hadn’t watched over Sherlock before when he was unconscious either from his injury or from John sedating him to take care of his wound.  

John finished his meal and stretched his legs out in front of himself, putting his empty plate aside and leaning back against the wall of the shed.  He watched as Sherlock curled briefly further into himself, his ears twisting as he blinked awake.  “Morning, sunshine,” John said quietly, “I brought your dinner.”  John inclined his head toward the plate, a small smile on his lips.  He couldn’t help it.  Sherlock was absolutely adorable rubbing the sleep from his eyes, giving a yawn and a stretch that made his ribs stand out along his sides.  John wanted to reach out and splay his fingers out in the indents between each rib, feel Sherlock’s sun-warmed skin.  

Sherlock ignored the food and crawled closer to John, nearly to the end of his tether, and John tried to keep calm.  Sherlock placed a hand on John’s denim-covered shin, his long fingers trailing up to his knee as he moved his hand steadily upward.  “Sherlock,” John nearly groaned, reaching out to put a hand over Sherlock’s, stilling it just as it reached John’s thigh.  Sherlock looked up John through his long, dark lashes, the collar biting lightly into the pale skin of his neck.  “Sherlock I can’t.  It’s not right.” John said, starting to push Sherlock’s hand away.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at John, a low growl rolling out of his throat.  “Sherlock,” John warned, tensing in preparation for whatever Sherlock was about to do.  John was surprised when Sherlock just sat back on his haunches and pouted, the growl cut short.  “I’ll … I’ll just leave you to it then.”  John said as casually as he could while he got up, still a bit on edge with Sherlock acting so strangely.  

Apparently his caution was justified because as soon as John’s back was turned, Sherlock lunged at him, grabbing his arm and pulling back hard as he kicked John’s feet out from under him.  John landed solidly on his back with a thud that forced the air from his lungs and left him momentarily dazed.  Sherlock took advantage of John’s brief incapacitation, climbing on top of him and pinning his wrists by his head.  

John blinked up at Sherlock, noticing the smug, gloating smirk on his face and just the barest hint of pink on his cheeks.  Oh no, it wasn’t going to be that easy.  John let Sherlock think that he was trapped, struggled against his grip for a moment before going limp beneath him.  Limp was probably not the right word though, as at least one part of John was starting to become far from that.  

Sherlock bent down over John, nosed under his jaw and licked at John’s skin.  John gasped at the sensation and moaned when Sherlock dug his teeth into the side of John’s neck.  This was too much.  John’s inner struggle would have to wait for another day because clearly Sherlock wanted this, but if that was the case, John was going to do things his way, and his way didn’t involve him being the one pinned to the ground.  In one swift move John twisted his hips and toppled Sherlock off himself and reversed their positions.  

Sherlock sucked in a breath, his eyes wide and his pupils large, now looking up at John.  “You are absolutely incorrigible.  Do you know that?  I shouldn’t want you the way I do.  I shouldn’t think you’re so bloody gorgeous either.  Jesus look at you.”  John breathed, starting to feel his resolve slip entirely as he stared down at Sherlock.

Sherlock’s tongue darted out to wet those perfect lips of his and that was the last straw.  John chased his tongue, covering Sherlock’s mouth with his own in a wet and uncoordinated kiss that tasted slightly of toffee.  Sherlock was stunned and stilled beneath him, not responding to the kiss at all.  John pulled back and looked at Sherlock’s shocked face, his wet lips and the blush spreading all the way up from his chest.  John smiled down at him, “first kiss, huh?”  John released Sherlock’s wrists and moved one hand to cup his cheek, running his thumb over Sherlock’s pink cheek.  “Just relax, I’ll take care of you.”  


	3. Chapter 3

“That’s it, Sherlock.” John said breathlessly, pulling off of Sherlock’s eager mouth.  He was a quick study, copying John’s movements and reaching out to meet John’s tongue with his own.  Sherlock’s mouth was warm and his lips were so soft and completely perfect in the way they slid across John’s own.  John was starting to feel far too warm, and much too constricted in all of his clothes.  He bent down for one more kiss before climbing off of Sherlock and standing up.

Sherlock sat up and watched him intently, his eyes wide and his mouth slack as he did.  John smiled at him as he started to unbutton his shirt.  Sherlock already looked completely debauched with his curls sticking up, his lips kiss-stained, a flush all over, and of course his erection jutting out from between his legs.  God he was so gorgeous.  John licked his lips as he slid his shirt off his shoulders and got right to work getting his jeans and pants off, kicking off his shoes as he did.  Sherlock stared at him the whole time, his eyes flicking all over John like he was cataloguing each and every inch of him.

John tried not to flinch under that gaze.  Sherlocks eagerness was obvious, but so was his inexperience, so John had absolutely nothing to be nervous about.  He pushed his pants and jeans down his thighs, stepping out of them and kneeling back down on the quilt next to Sherlock, reaching out to cradle his head and kiss those red lips.  He moaned into the kiss, all pretense of restraint or modesty thrown completely out the window as he pressed himself into Sherlock’s skin.  

He straddled Sherlock’s furry thigh, nudging his knee in between Sherlock’s legs and kissing him hard, pushing him back down onto the quilt.  Sherlock’s fur tickled his skin and it felt strange but oddly enticing, inexplicably arousing.  John kissed along Sherlock’s jaw, down along his neck, skipping over the chain links of his collar to dig his teeth into Sherlock’s shoulder, making him keen and squirm underneath him.  He worked down over Sherlocks pale chest, first running his fingers along his skin, then following with his lips.  He swept his tongue over each of Sherlock’s peaked nipples, making Sherlock gasp and arch up into John’s touch, always wanting more.

John moved to kneel between Sherlock’s thighs, placing his hands on his knees and spreading them wide.  John swallowed hard at the sight of Sherlock spread beneath him, his hard cock leaking against his stomach and that perfect pink and puckered hole just begging for John’s attention.  He couldn’t resist.  He urged Sherlock to flip over, grabbing two handfuls of his fluffy arse and pushing him up onto his knees as John pressed his tongue against that tight little hole.  Sherlock whined, actually whined, high pitched and long as John licked his arsehole.

Sherlock’s tail twitched and John felt it against his nose, soft and ticklish, it made John humm.  Sherlock rocked back against John’s mouth, moaning and shivering as he clutched onto the quilt.  John was relentless as he circled his tongue around that perfect ring of muscles, licking, sucking, giving filthy kisses as he moved one hand down to cup and fondle Sherlock’s balls.  

Sherlock was so responsive, it was driving John mad and there was no way he could ever last long enough to fuck Sherlock properly like this.  There was no reason he couldn’t take them both to the edge, though.  John pointed his tongue and _pressed_ , wriggling and thrusting until he had breached the tightness of Sherlock’s hole.  John moaned, his mouth against Sherlock, and his tongue snaking inside of him.  He was so hot inside, warmer than his mouth even and John wanted desperately to wrap himself in that heat.  Another time, he told himself, as his cock throbbed untouched and already aching for release.  

John worked his tongue in Sherlock’s arsehole, dipping it in and out as he finally wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s stiff and leaking cock.  He stroked quickly, firmly, timing each stroke with a vigorous thrust or wiggle of his tongue.  Sherlock was mewling and trembling beneath him, and John could hear his antlers scraping at the ground as he writhed and bucked between John’s mouth and fist.  

It was clear that Sherlock was close from the desperate moans and whines that were tumbling out of him, and John had the sudden urge to hold him close.  He reluctantly withdrew his mouth and slid his arms around Sherlock’s chest, drawing him up against himself.  John’s cock slotted neatly into the spit slicked crack of Sherlock’s arse, the tip of it butting up against the base of Sherlock’s tail.  John pressed his face into the crook of Sherlock’s neck, tasting sweat and skin as he resumed stroking his dripping cock, giving shallow thrusts of his own.

“God you’re a greedy thing.  Impatient, aren’t you?”  John mouthed against his neck, lips just under the collar that was now warm to the touch.  “I know you want to, Sherlock.”  John gave a twist of his wrist, thumb grazing over the head of Sherlock’s cock.  “Know you need to.  Come on then you beautiful thing.  Come for me.”  Sherlock groaned and shuddered and spilled all over John’s hand for the second time that day.  John stroked him through it, murmuring “good boy, such a good boy for me” until Sherlock slumped forward, twitching and spent.

John laid him down on the quilt and swung his leg over him, straddling his stomach and bracing a hand next to Sherlock’s head.  John stroked himself furiously, panting and groaning as he breathed in the smell of sex and sweat and _Sherlock_ who was practically boneless underneath him, staring up through his thick lashes and seeming to struggle to even keep his eyes open.  John’s breath hitched and he gave one short grunt as he splattered Sherlock’s chest with streaks of white.  

He rolled off onto his back, panting and cursing under his breath.  Jesus that had felt good.  John took a minute to get his breath back then grabbed the spare quilt, wiping his hand off and then rolling onto his side to wipe Sherlock’s chest and stomach.  Sherlock was already drifting off, a sleepy smile on his face that John felt had a distinct note of victory to it -- the gorgeous bastard had gotten just what he wanted.  John couldn’t even manage to feel used though, he had enjoyed himself far too much.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ahh … ohh … oh fuck.  Oh jesus chr-aah!”  John yelled, barely holding it together and glad that his nearest neighbours were well out of shouting distance.  He had just wanted to let Sherlock enjoy the sun a bit and wasn’t exactly sure how he had ended up shirtless, legs spread and flies undone with Sherlock’s head in his lap.  John tightened his grip on Sherlock’s antler as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded and he groaned as he watched Sherlock lick and suck on his cock.

He wasn’t particularly talented, but what he lacked in expertise he more than made up for in earnest enthusiasm and John was beyond himself.  He pulled Sherlock’s head down lightly, guiding him to take more.  “That’s right, oh god Sherlock, that’s incredible.”  John moaned, forcing himself to keep his eyes open even though the urge to throw his head back and thrust his hips up into that mouth was overwhelming.  Sherlock looked up at John, his mouth sunk low on John’s cock, his cheeks flushed and John’s breath caught in his throat.

“Fuck Sherlock … I can’t … I’m going to …”  John tried to push Sherlock off him, unable to hold back any longer.  Sherlock wouldn’t budge though, and just gave a low moan around John’s cock.  John groaned as Sherlock sucked him through his orgasm, his head finally falling back as he gripped a fistfull of Sherlock’s hair.  His cock pulsed as waves of pleasure washed through him and he shuddered hard as he felt the last spurt of come spill onto Sherlock’s tongue.  

Sherlock pulled off and swallowed, making the pleased noises usually reserved for when John indulged him with actual sweets.  John groaned again, collapsing onto his back on the grass.  Sherlock crawled on top of him, licking and kissing at his skin, nosing under his arms and up under his jaw.  He pressed his stiff cock into John’s belly and gave needy little moans into his ear.  “Give me a minute to get my breath back” John smiled, bending his head to capture Sherlock’s mouth for a moment.  

John slumped back down onto the grass, letting himself feel the sun on his face, Sherlock’s mouth on his skin, and the bliss of pure satisfaction.  He sighed and carded his fingers through Sherlock’s thick hair, suddenly wondering why exactly he had felt so opposed to this only a day before.  Sherlock, for his part, kept making happy, but needy sounds, little huffs and whines as he licked and sucked at John’s skin, seemingly wanting to taste every inch of him.

“Ouch! Alright!” John chuckled as he felt Sherlock dig his teeth hard into the skin above his ribs.  “Alright!”  John gripped Sherlock’s shoulders, pushing him off as he sat up.  John laid Sherlock down on his back on the grass and knelt between his legs, taking a moment to tuck himself back into his pants before he bent down over Sherlock, running his hands along his furry thighs.  Sherlock was already squirming underneath him, desperate for attention and keening for John’s touch.

“Hush now,” John soothed, trailing his fingers over Sherlock’s peaked hipbones, feeling how thick fur gave way to smooth, warm skin.  John settled his hands on the grass on either side of Sherlock and dropped his head to lick a stripe up the underside of his cock from his balls all the way over the tip.  Sherlock gasped and threw an arm over his eyes, his other reaching out to grip John’s wrist.  John blew a cool breath over the wet patch he had just made, making Sherlock shiver.

John licked up Sherlock’s cock again, then pulled it into his mouth, circling his tongue over the head and sucking lightly.  Sherlock tasted nearly as strong as he smelled -- all musk and salt and animal, but it really only made John want him more, made him want to let that taste and smell sink into his own skin.  John sunk his mouth down on Sherlock until his nose was buried in his thick pubic hair and his slender cock was butting up against the back of John’s throat.  Sherlock groaned and gripped tighter onto John’s wrist.

John gave a few slow bobs of his head, pulling nearly off of Sherlock’s cock, and then delving back down on it, his lips making a tight seal.  Sherlock moaned and squirmed underneath him, his fingers digging almost painfully into John’s wrist and his breath coming in short little gasps.

John sat back, managing to pry his arm free of Sherlock’s death grip on him to place his hands on Sherlock’s knees, spreading them wide and titling Sherlock’s hips up.  John groaned; he didn’t think he would ever get over the filthy urges that Sherlock’s pink arsehole brought out in him.  It was just too perfect nestled between those fluffy, white cheeks.  John buried his fingers in that soft fur and spread Sherlock wide as he laid down on his belly in the grass and pressed his mouth to that delicate hole.  

Sherlock whined as John tongued his arsehole, slowly working it open with patient persistence and (John preened just a little) a good bit of skill.  John reached up every once and a while to give a languid tug on Sherlock’s leaking cock, just to keep him on edge.  John revelled, maybe even wallowed in the taste and feel of Sherlock’s hole on his tongue.  It was deliciously obscene in the way it fluttered under his ministrations, and how it gradually gave way to allow more of John’s tongue entry.   

John’s shoulder was starting to get stiff so he shuffled back up into a kneeling position between Sherlock’s legs.  Sherlock moved his arm off his wide dark eyes to look up at John and John held his gaze as he slipped his middle finger into his mouth, making a show of getting it nice and wet.  Sherlock stared wantonly and licked his lips.  John pulled his finger from his mouth with a wet pop, trailing saliva, and rested one hand on Sherlock’s thigh while he pressed his slick finger up against Sherlock’s arsehole.  

Sherlock whined as John circled his wet finger around that tight ring of muscles, taking pleasure in how needy Sherlock sounded and the feeble way he was attempting to wriggle his hips to get more.  John teased further, pressing the pad of his finger against Sherlock’s arsehole, but not pushing in.  Sherlock growled in frustration and John finally took pity on him, slipping his wet finger inside.  

John was breathing hard, nearly as hard as Sherlock was, just staring transfixed at his finger buried in that pink little hole.  “Beautiful” John muttered and Sherlock moaned in response.  John slowly drew his finger out and then drove it back in with a twist, making Sherlock gasp and then give a high, wavering cry.  Sherlock was already a bit loosened and wet from John’s tongue, so John carefully slipped his index finger in alongside his middle finger, feeling the snug press of Sherlock’s muscles.

Sherlock groaned at the intrusion, but after a moment’s adjustment he was right back to wriggling against John’s hands on him.  John smiled and started to move his fingers, working them in and out, watching as Sherlock panted and gave little moans and exclamations each time John drove his fingers inside of him.  God it was gorgeous, and John’s cock was already filling out again.  He felt like teenager.  Like a teenager and absolutely desperate to fuck Sherlock.

John pulled his fingers out and Sherlock gave a loud whine of complaint.  “Shh it’s alright.  I’ll be right back.  Won’t be a minute, I promise.”  John fished for Sherlock’s leash which had been abandoned on the ground and clipped it to the nearby stake, something which he had been distracted from doing earlier.  Sherlock rolled his eyes at him and John just gave him a hard kiss on the mouth before he dashed off into the cabin.

True to his word, John was back in less than a minute, now with a bottle of lube and a cloth.  He was quick to get back between Sherlock’s legs, bending down to kiss him again and noticing that Sherlock’s erection hadn’t flagged one bit.  “Flip over for me,” John urged, and Sherlock was quick to do so, propping himself up on his hands and knees while john settled in behind him, popping the cap on the lube and slicking up his fingers properly this time.  

He grabbed Sherlock’s tail and gave it a slow, hard tug from the base as he pushed his two fingers back into Sherlock’s pink hole.  Sherlock’s back arched as he groaned and John just kept up where he left off, scissoring and wiggling his fingers inside Sherlock, slowly opening him up while he stroked his tail.  

It wasn’t long before Sherlock was rocking back against three of John’s fingers, making increasingly needy sounds and looking back over his shoulder at John.  “God, you want it, don’t you?”  John marvelled, giving a twist of his fingers and a hard pull on Sherlock’s tail.  Sherlock bit his lip and whined.  John let out a shuddering breath and gently pulled his fingers out of Sherlock’s arse, then pushed his jeans and pants off his hips.  It had taken almost no time at all for him to get hard again, and slicking himself up with the lube was enough to get him all the way there.

He moved his one hand to grip Sherlock’s hip to hold him steady while he guided himself inside.  The blunt head of his cock met some resistance, but John smoothed his hand against Sherlock’s furry hip, whispered encouragement to him.  “Good boy, just relax, you can take it.”  John pressed forward again and this time slipped past the tense muscles that had been holding him back.  “Ah! That’s it Sherlock.” John groaned, pushing slowly further inside the perfect tightness of Sherlock’s arsehole.  He pulled back just a little, then inched forward, listening to Sherlock’s panted breaths and quiet moans.

John grunted when he was finally flush with Sherlock’s furry bottom, his tail twitching against John’s stomach.  John stilled for a minute, ran his hands up to Sherlock’s collar, and down again along his hot skin, then back to hold his hips tight, John’s fingers sinking into all that fur.  He drew his hips back excruciatingly slowly, feeling every twitch and ripple from Sherlock’s slick insides, and the delicious drag of it.  John stopped with just the head of his cock inside Sherlock, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of that perfect pink arsehole stretched wide to accommodate his girth.

“Just look at you,” John breathed, “so fucking gorgeous.”  John thrust his hips forward quick and hard, pulling Sherlock back into him as he did.  Their groans knit together in the fresh afternoon air and John felt absolutely overcome.  He panted and moaned and cursed under his breath as he drove himself again and again into Sherlock, who was rocking back into him, his head dropped low to the ground, his antlers starting to cut tracks into the grass.  

Now that he was inside John couldn’t bring himself to go slowly, to be as gentle or tender as he really thought he ought to be for their first time.  But, feeling Sherlock so hot and tight around him, the sight of him writhing and slick with sweat underneath him, and oh god, the noises he was making!  It brought out the most animalistic part of John -- the part that wanted to bite and growl and bruise and _fuck_.

And so he did.  He relinquished his hold on Sherlock’s hips, moved one hand between his shoulder blades to hold him down, while he wrapped the other around his tail.  He pulled hard on Sherlock’s tail while he drove his hips into him at a relentless pace.  Sherlock moaned and whined with each of John’s thrusts, gripping handfuls of grass while he dug his antlers into the ground to brace himself.    

“Oh god you feel good.”  John gasped, feeling the heat of his approaching orgasm low in his belly and giving another vicious tug to Sherlock’s tail.  Sherlock gave a rumbling growl and rocked back hard into John, meeting his thrusts.  John watched as Sherlock awkwardly snaked his hand underneath himself, no doubt wanting to touch himself.  “Mmm no need for that, Sherlock.” John said, sliding his hand up from between his shoulders to wrap around the chain links of Sherlock’s collar and pull.  

The metal bit into his throat, no doubt cutting off his breathing for a moment while John hauled him up, sliding an arm around his chest to take the pressure off his neck.  John hugged Sherlock tight into himself, giving short thrusts, effectively bouncing Sherlock in his lap while he pressed his nose behind one furry ear.  His hair still had that honey-talcum scent from the baby shampoo John had used and god if that just didn’t set John off more.  

He growled as he wrapped a hand tight around Sherlock’s stiff and leaking cock, giving firm strokes as he pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s shoulder, biting and sucking at the skin, breathing hard through his nose.  Sherlock dropped his head to the side and back against John’s shoulder, his ear brushing against John’s cheek as he moaned and arched up into John’s hand.  “See now, I’ve got you Sherlock.”  John panted, thrusting hard and quick up into Sherlock as he stroked him.  The change in angle with Sherlock now effectively in John’s lap made Sherlock feel even tighter and John was about to tumble over the edge.

“Come on Sherlock,” John coaxed, “I wanna be inside you when you come.  I want to feel you.  God, please.”  John groaned out, teeth clenched, sliding his hand over Sherlock’s length in desperate, fast strokes as he rocked up into him.  Sherlock gasped and his whole body shuddered as he came into John’s hand, his muscles tightening and twitching as he moaned, long and loud.

John gulped in a breath, feeling Sherlock’s arsehole flutter and tense around him was far too much for him to take and he bit down again, this time on Sherlock’s neck, right below his collar to stifle the groan that ripped from his throat as he came inside him.  “Ooh fuck Sherlock.  Amazing.  You’re fucking incredible.”  John mumbled into Sherlock’s flushed skin as the last aftershocks of his orgasm made him shiver.

He held tight to Sherlock for a long moment, nuzzling at his neck and getting his breath back as his cock softened inside Sherlock, eventually slipping free.  John gently eased Sherlock down to the grass, laying him on his front, reaching for the cloth he had brought and cleaning off his hands.  Sherlock let out a breathy, satisfied sounding moan as he stretched out on the lawn.  John couldn’t help but reach out to grab a handful of that fluffy white arse, spreading his cheeks and watching a slow trickle of come seep out of his stretched and reddened hole.  “Gorgeous.” John whispered, gingerly dabbing Sherlock clean.

Sherlock hissed a little at the feel of the cloth against his tender backside, but John was gentle.  He tucked himself back into his pants and laid down next to Sherlock on the warm grass, feeling it prickle lightly against his hot skin.  He looked over at Sherlock to find him staring back at him, a lopsided grin on his face that John couldn’t help but return, especially when he noticed the bits of grass and dirt that were stuck in his antlers.  John laughed as he reached out to pull Sherlock into his arms, giving him a lazy kiss on the lips before settling his head on his chest, running his fingers through all that hair.  Sherlock curled up into him, giving a sleepy rumble and throwing his arm over John’s waist, quickly drifting off to sleep with John following shortly after.

 

 

* * *

 

 

John knew he had to let Sherlock go.  His wound was closed completely and his fur was even starting to come back in patchy little clumps around the scar.  He still had a small limp, but it didn’t seem to hurt him at all and he had no trouble getting around the yard with John who always kept hold of the leash that John felt kept him tethered.  

It had only been a few days since their relationship had taken a sudden turn to the sexual and it had only served to make what John knew he had to do more painful.  Sherlock had become such a big part of his life so quickly, and his heart gave a sickening lurch when he thought of a future without the petulant, sometimes infuriating, but overwhelmingly endearing creature who had stumbled into his life on accident.  John sighed as he put the plates back in the cupboard.  Tomorrow.  He would do it tomorrow, he just needed one more day with Sherlock to steel himself against the renewed bout of lonely existence that would be coming his way.

That night he lay on the quilt in the shed, moonlight streaming in through the windows and Sherlock fast asleep and held tight in his arms.  He pressed his nose to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and whispered, “I will miss you so much, Sherlock.  More than you’ll ever know.”  John let out a shaking breath that made Sherlock’s ear twitch as he slept.  “I think I …” John squeezed his eyes shut and hugged Sherlock even tighter to himself.  “I love you.” John said, the words just a quiet secret against the back of Sherlock’s neck.

John didn’t sleep at all that night, he just held Sherlock and waited until the first rays of dawn crept in through the window.  John unlocked Sherlock’s collar, let it slip off the pale expanse of his neck then swept the curls off his forehead to place a chaste kiss there.  He stopped briefly at the shed door, taking one last look at Sherlock’s sleeping form before walking to his car and driving off.  He couldn’t stand the thought of watching Sherlock leave, or even being anywhere near when he did.

John spent the day driving aimlessly through the countryside and the evening nursing a pint at the village pub and trying not to feel desperately sorry for himself.  Eventually he knew he would have to go home to an empty shed and a cold bed and a life that would be as boring as it had been before.  Maybe he would have to move back to the city, to the rush and the noise and that awful little bedsit he had run away from.  He thought the quiet and fresh air would have done him good, but the only thing that had made him feel alive in recent memory was Sherlock.

He sighed and downed the last mouthful of beer, reluctantly going back to his car and slowly wending his way home.  He was stalling for time and he knew it.  He didn’t want to pull up into the yard and see the shed doors open, no one waiting for his return.  But eventually he did make it home to exactly that.  The shed was empty.  Sherlock was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Five lifeless, listless days passed and it was all John could do to just keep himself washed, dressed, and fed.  He had zero interest in anything, not even hunting which he had at least used to enjoy.  Everything just reminded him of Sherlock now, reminded him of what he would never have again.  John put the book he hadn’t really been reading down next to the cup of tea he hadn’t touched and decided to just turn in for the night.

John woke up freezing in the middle of the night and pulled the blankets in closer around him as he blinked groggily at the dark room.  Except, it wasn’t dark, not as dark as it should be with all the curtains drawn.  John rolled over, wondering if maybe he hadn’t closed them although he was sure he had, and was nearly startled half to death by the figure looming over his bed, silhouetted by the thin moonlight coming in through the wide open window.

“Sh-sherlock?”  John questioned, squinting against the dimness of the room.  The figure gave a slow nod and John could finally start to make out his features.  It really was Sherlock.  “You came back.” John said, unable to keep the amazement out of his voice as he sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side.  Sherlock gave a casual sort of shrug, as if to indicate it wasn’t any big deal that he had just broken into John’s cabin in the middle of the night.  “But, you’re all healed up now, you’re free.”  John said quietly, feeling the words catch in his throat.

Sherlock gave a roll of his shoulders, another noncommittal shrug before he reached out, splaying his fingers over John’s chest.  “Sherlock,” John breathed, covering Sherlock’s hand with his own, looking up into those ever-shifting eyes.  John took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts.  He didn’t think he could handle this if Sherlock left again, couldn’t handle not knowing if that was the last time he would ever see him again.  It was just too painful.

“ _Mmm … muh … miss you._ ”   

John’s eyes snapped open at the unfamiliar sound, the stuttered words an echo of what he had whispered to Sherlock the night before he set him free.  John was sure he looked utterly gobsmacked.  “Did you just _talk_?” John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes hard as if John had missed the point completely, which he supposed he had.  John grinned up at him, “say it again.”

“ _Mmiss you._ ” Sherlock said, a bit clearer this time, but his voice was rough and so deep.  John reached up to cup his cheek, pulling his face down close to his and realizing that Sherlock was blushing deeper than he had ever seen him before.  He was actually embarrassed!

John couldn’t help but let out a short huff of a laugh, “Oh god Sherlock, I missed you too, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”  John closed the distance between them then, pressing his mouth hard to Sherlock’s as he pulled him into his lap.  “You heard everything didn’t you?”  John asked and Sherlock nodded.  “And you came back to me?”  Again another nod in the affirmative from Sherlock.

“Was ‘miss you’ all you learned to say while you were gone?”  John questioned further and this time Sherlock bit his plush lower lip and blushed impossibly deeper as he shook his head ‘no’.  John grinned at him then, thoroughly delighted with not only having Sherlock back in his arms, but with this new development.  “Go on then.”  John coaxed.

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked John in the eye as he stumbled over the next phrase he had managed to teach himself.  “ _I luh - love you too._ ”

John pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s and looked deep into his eyes as his heart filled with joy unlike any he had ever known before.  “You are the most brilliant, amazing thing I have ever known, Sherlock.  I am so lucky to have met you.  Will you stay with me?”

Sherlock took a moment to respond, and in that moment John felt absolute panic claw at his insides, but he tried to remain outwardly calm.  Sherlock’s brows furrowed in concentration.  “ _Ee-ess._ ”  he finally managed to articulate as he gave a decisive nod.

John could have positively whooped with glee, but instead he kissed Sherlock hard, toppling them backward onto the bed as he did, then rolling Sherlock over onto his back.  John peppered Sherlock’s face and neck and chest with kisses as he mumbled I love you’s into his skin.  Sherlock purred happily under him, returning John’s grin that seemed glued to his face.  

Finally John lay down next to Sherlock and pulled him into a hug, their bodies pressed together nearly from head to toe (or hoof as it were), their legs tangled together.  “You make me so incredibly happy.”  John said quietly.  “We’ll work on your English together, yeah?”

“ _Too-gedder John._ ”  Sherlock replied and John couldn’t help but kiss him again.

“Together, Sherlock.  Always together now.”     


End file.
